For Want Of
by Camorra
Summary: For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost. Orihara Izaya and Heiwajima Shizuo meet in middle school, becoming better and worse for it.
1. Chapter 1

He wonders, briefly, no real time to consider, what it would be like to have a loving, doting mother.

Maybe she'd celebrate his first day of school with pancakes, waking him up when they were fluffy and warm. Kururi would be balanced on her hip, and she'd turn and smile at him as he came down the stairs, still ruffled from sleep and brushing it from his eyes.

It's funny, he can't even imagine Kyouko's face on her.

Instead, Kururi (or maybe it's Mairu? Who cares, they're twins, pretty much the same anyway) contents herself with chewing on his sock as he pours himself a bowl of cereal.

He's honestly kind of surprised his parents found time to fuck in between jet setting from here to there, but he guesses it doesn't take that long, does it? Maybe they were efficient about it as they are everything else.

"Looking forward to your first day of school?" he asks whichever sibling is chewing on his sock.

"Hm," she says in response. Close enough. Do three year olds talk more? He may have fudged their birth certificates only a teeny bit, what's a year in the grand scheme of thing, but what else was he supposed to do with them while he was in school? They're mobile now with a near suicidal surge to stick their fingers into just about any electrical socket they can reach.

"Where's your sister?"

Kururi/Mairu (Kurmai? Easier to say, certainly) looks shifty, but glances to the left before her eyes return solidly to his face. Izaya follows her eyes to see the other one nearly in aim of her goal, baby fingers stretched out towards the damnable electrical socket.

For a second, a long second, a part of him (okay, a majority) wants to wait and see what happens. Let her achieve her goal and stick her fingers into the socket and achieve her victory, however short lived it (and she) might be.

But he doesn't, because he is a responsible older brother. Or something. Fuck it, he's invested far too much time into these idiots for one of them to die now. (But how long would it take for Kyouko to notice? Maybe he could convince her there was only one to start with? Better yet, pretend one is two? Nah, would never work. Too much that could go wrong.)

He scoops the one closes to him up tucks the other under his arm. It might make maneuvering his backpack on difficult and force him to leave the slowly warming cereal on the counter, but he's running late anyway, and breakfast is kind of excessive anyway.

It's easier than he thought it would be to ditch his sisters at their nursery school, the teacher (as if you could call someone who watch children drool on each other a teacher) cooing over what a good big brother he was, how sweet he is, and he's on his way to middle school.

He's a bit early, but that's fine. So are many other students, nervous and eager. It's the first time half of them will need to make friends in years, probably don't even know how. It's hard to choose where to position himself. On the one hand, too close and he'll be approached. It's the halo effect, see. He's got a pretty face, so he must have an equally good personality to match it. He'd be able to see a few of the daring ones up close, watch for bitten nails or anxiety behind the eyes.

But then he'd miss the larger picture, have to focus attention on the here and now. Sacrifice quantity for uncertain quality. Decisions, decisions.

He's spent too long dithering, and now he's caught up in a rush of students. Drats.

Too bad, might as well make the most of it.

There's a girl moving towards him with a studied confidence he can almost admire, if her posture wasn't too relaxed, her shoulders too far back, eyes too wide for it to be real. She's looking to attract friends to a bubbly personality she doesn't have.

A boy with an aggravated scowl is shoving through the crowd, and half of the students scramble out of his way. The other half are pushed as though by the sheer weight of his gait, nothing more than leaves in the wind. He catches Izaya's eye and is that an honest-to-god _snarl_?

The fuck?

Coming up the walkway is a familiar face from elementary school, and he lights up on seeing Izaya, hope in his expression. God, this is too easy. He's clearly hoping they'll be glued together by foreign situations into an impregnable friendship, Izaya forced out of his shell. Izaya doesn't move closer, but doesn't move away either as Suzuki moves closer, greeting him with more familiarity than is probably necessary. More than is welcome, at any rate.

"Izaya," he says, cheer bright and not the most forced he's heard this morning. "I didn't know you'd be at Raijin."

It's probably because he didn't tell anybody, but Suzuki doesn't seem to need an answer. He never has.

"What class are you? Maybe we'll be classmates again and you can let me in on some of your study tips," Suzuki gives him an exaggerated wink. "Maybe you'll have a competitor for top student this year, huh?"

Izaya gives the small chuckle he knows is expected of him, the one makes him just a loner instead of an antisocial asshole and says, "Ah, finally. It gets so boring all alone at the top."

And he hears an honest-to-god growl from behind him. He swing his head around to see the angry one from earlier staring right at him, teeth bared, fingers curling and uncurling like he could barely stop himself from beating Izaya within an inch of his life.

Angry Dog turns when a hand lands on his shoulder, another boy, darker skinned than maybe anyone Izaya's ever seen, and follows him into the school.

Interesting.

A faint whine alerts him that Suzuki may have been talking the entire time.

"Wow, what'd you do to piss off Heiwajima that much? I might have to reconsider spending any time around you, haha," Suzuki says, and he's actually edging away from Izaya like he has some horribly contagious disease. Like he's the one infected with terminal dumbassery.

"Who's Heiwajima?" he asks, and he's not prepared for Suzuki and just about everyone in a ten foot radius to stop dead.

"You don't know who Heiwajima is?" says a girl behind him, purple lips parted in surprise.

"He's a monster," another girl says, her face far too close to orgasmic for it to hold any true weight.

"I heard that he took out an entire yakuza gang just because they stole his juice box," a boy says, confidence heavy in his tone.

"Forget that, I don't think Kimoto is out of the hospital yet. It's been months."

And suddenly the air is filled with Heiwajima's exploits, like a dam has broken.

If his new classmates are to be believed, Heiwajima is single-handedly responsible for every act of violence within a ten mile radius, can bench press a truck, and hides under the most beautiful face that God saw fit to bless this earth with (not his words).

The crowd's turned their attention away from him, whispering to each other Heiwajima's latest exploits. He's just about convinced it'll never end, the story just retold and reduplicated to the status of legend here, on the front steps of Raijin, when the bell rings loud over it all.

He starts his day.

He watches as a girl loans another a pencil, disgust in her eyes even as the other girl's light up inside with joy.

As the homeroom teacher's eyes linger just a little too long on legs beneath skirts, twisting his wedding ring all the while.

As a boy in the corner starts breathing a little to fast, sweating just a little too much when all they've done is introduce each other.

As another boy's eyes glaze over in boredom as his posture starts to slip.

He's impassive and above it all. He knows that now that won't score him anything with his classmates. He'll be left alone as he wishes. He know that later, it will only make him more attractive, as girls come closer, desperate to crack his shell. As anyone will want their five minutes of glory as his only friend.

But by then, he'll have been watching from the corner long enough to know what it'll take to break them, to watch them walk away and leave him well enough alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He's wrong.

He forgot to factor in the budding hormones, how pretty his face his. How polite detachment could be mistaken for kindness under the haze of lust.

"Ah, Izaya-kun! We're gonna go get smoothies after school, wanna come?"

"I'd love to, but I have to watch my sisters after school today, you know how it goes."

Every. Day.

"Orihara-kun! We're going to a movie this weekend, will you come?"

"Maybe next time, ne?"

For _weeks_.

On the flip side, it does make it so much easier to get information when people want something from him.

"Oh, Shizu-chan? We went to elementary school together. He was always coming in so banged up, we sometimes wondered if his parents were abusive. So, what about Wednesday, then?"

"Heiwajima? I'm not really the one to ask. You should talk to Tanaka, they've really been inseparable since that incident last year."

"I heard he took out an entire high school gang last year, isn't that crazy? Says he hates violence, too. Like, sure you do, man."

He takes to going to the library for lunch, like he did in elementary school just to take a break from the relentless questions. Are you free? Are you free? Are you free? (Are any of us _really_ free? Ha, philosophy joke.)

If he wanted friends, he'd have them, onviosuly. He'd have the pick of them all, not just the ones that come to him with desperation in their eyes and the twists of their hands. (The cliques have settled. You think I'd take you when no one else wanted you?)

He hasn't been watching long, but maybe its just become easier with time and practice. He's only known her two weeks, but he can already tell Machiko-san will have a nervous breakdown before the year is up. Choruko is in love with the homeroom teacher. Torohiro is gay, but desperately wishes he wasn't. Kirito acts sweet, but he eats bitter food. (Maybe it's because he's so sweet and he needs to balance it out? Maybe it's because he's secretly bitter on the inside. Who knows, only time will tell.)

They're all so dull. Pedestrian. Unremarkable. Tedious. All of that and more. (Or less, as it is.)

They just follow the same patterns over and over. When will Todoro learn that his friends are only using him for his money? Kiko has yet to figure out that Katsuo couldn't possibly give less of a shit, no matter how many times he treats her like trash, she comes crawling back.

Fuck friends. They're all _sheep_. Who would want to befriend sheep?

No, no. That's not right. Sheep are placid up until the slaughter, don't suspect a think before the bolt slides between their eyes. Humans, though. Humans do amazing things in the face of death and despair, don't they? The delay on the green line yesterday to clean up body parts is proof enough of that, isn't it?

They just need a _push_ to show who they really are. To become extraordinary. Like a mother lifting a car to retrieve her baby, humans only discover what they're really capable of in moments of crisis. It's difficulties that show what men are; that idea's thousands of years old.

But what's the use of that, huh? What'd purpose of seeing these humans at their worst, their best? What's to be gained? He's human too, after all. Humans can't just hurt other humans without the impact on themselves, right?

Do what ye will, if ye harm none.

Right?

But can you really ever do anything without causing harm, even in some minor, small way.

Treat others as you wish to be treated.

But who _does_ that, really. Certainly not his classmates, certainly not him for that matter.

The problem with it all is that he can't remove himself from the equation, can't find any way to distance himself above it all.

So he sits in the library, calm and collected, and reading about Irish mythology. It's gruesome, truth be told. All death and destruction. Those that rise above are those that can destroy the most, can kill the most.

Like Heiwajima.

Everyday, he feels a scowl aimed at his back, and it makes the skin itch and crawl like angry ants have taken residence in his skin. Angry eyes aimed at his back. If look could kill, he'd be dead many times over. The frustrating part of it is, he hasn't the faintest idea _why_.

Word has it Heiwajima has a younger brother, but Izaya's never met him. Couldn't have offended him that way. They don't take the same train, don't live in the same neighborhood. Semi-legal (okay, completely and totally illegal) hacking reveals that they don't share the same forums. (How would Heiwajima know anyway. Izaya prefers those without IP tracking, thank you very much.) He's not top-of-class material, from what his grades say. (Even less from what his teachers write.) Heiwajima doesn't seem to be involves in club sports, isn't even in his class. They're clearly not rivals in anything.

There is no reason for Heiwajima to dislike him so much.

But this is a patience game. Nothing motivates such like anger, and Heiwajima seems to be taking every last ounce of self-control he posses not to punch Izaya into next week. No, this isn't a game to be won by confrontation. This is a game to be won by cooly meeting heated glares with a level gaze, maybe a quirk of the eyebrows.

Smirking would send the wrong message, a sunny smile would be seen as provocation.

Patience. Reveal nothing.

Really, he should learn to play poker. Judging by the way Heiwajima's fists tighten, his scowl deepens, and his brow crinkles in confusion, he does an excellent job.

Too bad its illegal and he's twelve. (But those can be worked around, no?)

He gives it five days before Heiwajima approaches him.

That gives him a few days to figure out what he'll do when he does. Heiwajima isn't actually completely friendless, despite the rumors that fly around about him being hellspawn of the highest order. Tanaka sticks close to him like glue, and not all members of the school tremble when they hear him roar.

And he stuffs his face almost continually with sweets of every color and breed. To feed an inner kindness, maybe? Because he's rotten on the inside? (Not enough data yet to tell how foods effects personality. Work in progress.)

Days become weeks.

Heiwajima doesn't approach, just scrunches his nose like he's smelled something foul while Tanaka shakes his head. (You can tell from fifty feet away that Tanaka is roughly eighty percent of Heiwajima's impulse control.) Izaya has yet to see the fabled strength in action. And while he's not sure he wants the first impression to be with his face against a fist, he's also not sure that it really exists at this point.

Fate is kind to him for once.

It's a day like almost any other for Izaya, except in the dying light of the end of a winter day, Heiwajima decimates the entire club judo team.

They weren't joking when they said he was the definition of violence.

There's no grace to the way Heiwajima fights, it's rough and untrained and clearly him throwing his strength against the nearest barrier and hoping it cracks.

It's beautiful.

He's never seen a human look so honest before, so wild. So close to what makes up the essence of humanity, nearly bestial, really. It's refreshing. It's pure.

He wants to be closer, he wants to be farther away. He wants to know what makes Heiwajima tick.

He wishes there wasn't a pane of glass and two floor between them, so he could see the expression on his face.

He watches a dark-skinned figure rush out of the backdoor of the school and stop dead, moving out of the way of a flying body. Tanaka doesn't even try to approach the maelstrom on the field. Probably wise, since Heiwajima apparently saw the soccer net as an excellent weapon.

Izaya watches Tanaka for a moment, waiting for him to call out, to catch Heiwajima's attention. To exercise some restraint. But he doesn't. Apparently, Tanaka can only do so much.

Izaya watches until almost every figure on the field is down flat on the grass, even though it means he'll probably be late to pick up the twins. It's worth it when Heiwajima looks up, seeming to make eye contact through the glass, through the distance between them.

Weeks become flu season, announced with the panicked cries of toddlers in the middle of the night.

Izaya wants to turn over and go back to sleep, to ignore it all through the cotton of his pillow. But they're making such a a fuss it's hard to do anything but cross the hall to the twin's room.

Poor little Kumai is breathing heavily, wailing in-between gasping breaths, her sister puttering around uselessly in the same crib.

Why they bothered to invest in separate cribs, he'll never know.

"Izu-nii, Izu-nii, help," the healthy one cries, tears forming in her eyes.

He plucks the sick one out of the crib, feeling snot dribble on his arm with a detached sense of disgust. He uses the other arm to hold the other one. Trying to separate the two of them is useless and a waste of energy.

He carries the twins downstairs, to the kitchen for no better reason than it seemed the thing to do. He has vague memories of cold medicines in a cabinet somewhere. It must have been years ago. Do cold medicines expire? Does it matter? What's the dosing for a two-year-old? Can you give hot tea to a toddler?

Is drugging toddlers ethical if it relives their pain?

He sets the twin on the counter and surveys the kitchen. It's a sad state of affairs. It's clean, but mostly a result of disuse than any real efforts at housekeeping. There's one well used cabinet in the corner that's full of disgusting cup noodles and cereal for when Izaya can't find the interest in picking something up on the way home. Or wants to feed the twins.

They're two, it's not like they know what real food even is. (Besides, they love cup noodles. What're you gonna do, call child services? Ha!)

He kinds something that he thinks is a thermometer in a cupboard over the stove with something that's congealing and noxiously purple but says 'fever reducer.'

Trying to use a thermometer will a toddler is normally a struggle, but he really stood no chance against two toddlers treating him like the devil incarnate wielding a pitchfork instead of a thermometer.

(Devil incarnate. Heiwajima. Tom Tanaka as the source of self-control. Remove Tanaka and Heiwajima approaches him, ending his weeks long stand off. )

He gives up on the thermometer. It's pretty obvious she's running a fever, magnitude is pretty irrelevant at this point. Right? It's not like he knows much about children. It's probably okay.

The congealing medicine _says_ that it expired two years ago, but humans are always lying to make a profit, so that's really no guarantee. More importantly, it says to not give to children under two, which the twins are safely over. He figures that it's probably okay. Humans are generally stupid creatures, its unlikely that it's something truly dangerous, right?

(He can't rid of Tanaka directly. He's sure he could convince some idiots to attack Tanaka after school. Maybe some muggers to jump him—)

(No. No, that'd never work.)

It might be pretty irrelevant if the purple goo is safe for toddlers considering that less of it ends up _in_ the Kumai than _on_ the collective Kumai. It's the thought that counts, right?

Whatever. He makes tea for himself because Kumai are whimpering pathetically and there's no chance he's going to sleep now. He decides to set up camp in on the floor in the living room, turning the TV onto the late, late night news so the twins can watch the pretty pictures or something. It's a murder scene on currently, but who says there's no beauty in death? This one's pretty gruesome, though, he's mildly amazed its on TV. Guts are half way out of the body, one of the few clues that it even used to be human. It's mostly hard to tell, given how little skin is left between huge, bloody gashes.

It's almost as horrific as children's programming. No wonder the twins are fascinated.

(One of Tanaka's last attackers is still in the hospital, apparently. Two transferred to other schools. Or are dead. Depends on the source. This kind of incongruous information is _infuriating._ )

He goes upstairs to get his homework when the prickling sensation of something drying brings his attention down to his arm.

No, that's _disgusting._

It'd be effective.

If it _worked_.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

It's so _low._

People get sick, it happens. Couldn't trace it back to him either way.

Incubation period for the common cold is anywhere from twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Introducing the bacterium leads to the best chance of Tanaka's absence from school later in the week, but only missing Friday. Introducing the bacterium on a Friday afternoon hazards that he rests over the weekend and misses no school, but raises the chances he misses more than one day.

Then again, who knows long long a snot sample lasts? Best to try for tomorrow and hope Tanaka incubates over the weekend.

8


End file.
